


Threads of Convergence

by BlackMageofPhantasm



Category: Multi-Fandom
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multiple Crossovers, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMageofPhantasm/pseuds/BlackMageofPhantasm
Summary: There are many worlds throughout the infinite universes, each different than the last. And in every world, there are countless stories being told. Most never interact, for the distance between these tales is usually too vast for them to affect the other. But, there are times, through circumstance and fate, that these stories, and the characters so many know, converge.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. The Blood of Men and Monsters: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to know why I’ve been gone for so long, please click on the link [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6210783/The-Black-Mage-of-Phantasm) to go to my FFN profile page where everything is explained. Be warned, it is rather long, and goes to some dark places at times. You don’t have to read everything if it makes you upset. All I ask is you do at the very least take a glance at what I’ve written to better understand what has happened to me in the year I’ve been gone

**Prologue**

Dawn was coming to an end, as did his crumbling will.

There was a man kneeling on the cold ground, underneath the symbol of his Lord. Thin, boney hands were intertwined and shaking. Words of the gospel he had been taught since he was a boy leaving him faster than they ever had, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes.

The man knew not how long he had been here, but he did not care. He only prayed. Prayed, for that was all he could do. He knew not what else he _could_ do, no matter how desperately he wished he could force his old bones to stand tall and go out. To hunt down the people—no, the _beasts_ that had taken _her_ from him. His sweet, innocent daughter. Taken from him while he could do nothing but watch because...

Because he had been a coward.

In that moment, last night, but it felt like an eternity ago, when those beasts had shattered the walls of his home, a brick hitting his daughter and knocking her out before she even had the chance to scream, those horrible creatures that looked like they came from the gates of Hell itself stared at him and his daughter with open hunger. He had held his child closely in his shaking arms, and with those beasts and their blood-red eyes towering over them, he was sure they would die. But then, one of the beasts had looked at his daughter, and stopped his fellow animal from devouring them. And with a grin that captured its inhumanity, teeth sharper then spikes clear to the man's horrified eyes, the beast spoke.

_"Not her;_ he _will want her."_

He.

The master of the beasts.

The _monster_ that had plagued his home, and so many other homes, for what seemed like forever.

The Count.

It was impossible to describe the horror those simple words had caused him. And it had grown even worse when the beasts, faster than any mortal could move, took his daughter from his arms and held her in their bulging, misshapen flesh they called limbs. He had stood up, tried to take back the girl he loved and cared for and would do anything for, but the other beast had simply grabbed him by the collar and lifted him with inhuman strength.

The beast had forced him to look into its cruel, soulless eyes. The hatred, the malice the man saw in them had made his heart stop, blood turning colder than a corpse, and had even made him defecate himself.

That had been enough for the beast to drop him, looking at him with disgust. It had said something about not wanting to soil its appetite with something so _repulsive_ , and the other had agreed. Then, they walked out of ruined home, without even sparing a glance at the man, who did nothing but watch and stutter gibberish as the beasts of the Count took his daughter away. They hadn't even seen fit to try and kill him, for they were so he would do nothing.

The moment his daughter—the last of his family, ever since his wife had died from an ill heart years ago—needed him most, and he had done _nothing_. His fear had ruled him, made him unable to move, barely let him breathe, and because of that, because he was a _coward,_ his daughter had been taken to the lair of that monster, where her suffering would be endless.

It was only when the sun rose that the fear left the man, that he felt able to move his limbs once again as he ran out of his home. He had gone to town, told others of his story, and, in his soiled and filthy rags, begged them for help, to save his daughter. But they had simply looked at him as if he was saying the sun had turned black, deluding himself from reality.

The reality that his daughter was as good as dead.

He knew that it hadn't been out of cruelty; they simply thought it best to stop trying to trick himself into believing a horrible lie. Some had even experienced similar tragedies as the man did just last night. By now, everyone in the town had suffered at the hands of the Count. Especially these last few months. The monster had grown even crueler, something no one had thought possible. No longer did he seem pleased with the sporadic hunts for the innocent he had done for so long, but instead, he sent his beasts to slaughter more innocents than needed to sate their kinds' hunger, creating more beasts with every soul he consumed. And then there were the women.

The count had ordered his beasts to bring him women of a certain shape and look. Those beasts of his did not give a reason, but one would have to be more innocent than a babe to not realize what was most likely being done to them. Every father and mother in the town had been horrified at the idea of those hellish creatures taking their daughters from their homes and to that, that _demon;_ perhaps even more than the thought of him killing their children. And the man was living that nightmare.

But even though he knew what his daughter's fate was to be, even though he knew the townspeople just wanted to ease him into the fact that he had just lost the last of his family, the idea of his sweet, innocent child being at the hands of that monster all because of his weakness was enough to send him into a blinding rage!

So, he had shouted at the townspeople who wrote his daughter off as dead, who looked at him with such pity and remorse no matter what horrible things he shouted. He begged the hardened men at the bar, who no longer went outside their homes at even the barest hints of darkness, to help him get to the mountains where that monster's castle was to rescue his daughter. He pleaded with the scared patrons of the innkeepers, the lawmen with their broken spirits, the gypsy fortune tellers who were too terrified to even _try_ and look into the future around that monster, the farmers whose crops were ruined as if the land itself had been poisoned by the presence of such _evil._ The man had asked near everyone in the town to help save his daughter.

None had agreed. Some had been apologetic, some had been angry at the man's insistent begging, some had been guilty as they saw the desperate look in his eyes, but in the end, they all said the same thing.

_"We can't help you."_

As the sun began to set, as the people around him all but ran to their homes, shutting their doors and using whatever means they had to protect themselves and their families, the man wandered through the streets; his clothing even more ragged, cuts and blood on his face from the fights he had gotten into, exhaustion of the body and mind weighing his every step, and eventually, he came to the last place in town he could ask for help.

The church.

There was no one there save for the priest, for no one else would dare venture out to such a lonely building near the woods so close to nightfall. He caught the priest just as he was about to close his doors. The man had fallen to his knees, asking the priest for guidance in his hour of need. To tell him what he should do when his daughter was taken by a demon straight from Lucifer's court. He had sobbed to the priest, begged him for an answer to how he could save his daughter from that monster and his abominations.

When the man had finished his pleads, the priest had slowly knelt down to him. He had placed a hand on the man's shoulders, made the symbol of the cross, and stared at him. Stared, with a look of sympathy, and heartbreak.

_"I'm sorry, my son."_

The man's sobs had begun anew at those words. The priest comforted him as best he could, but as the sun's light faded more and more, he grew anxious. The priest told the man he had to leave, but he would leave the church open, so the man could perhaps seek answers from the Lord himself. Hollowly, the man had agreed, and had entered the rapidly darkening church. As the priest gave the man one last goodbye and a regretful expression, the man closed the doors behind him, passed the pews until he was at the altar and its burnt candles, and stared at the image of the Savior hanging on a cross, high above him on the wall behind the altar. Then, he got on his knees, and prayed.

_God,_ he thought, speaking not with his tongue, but his very soul. _I know no man knows your plan. I know that the faithful shall be rewarded in Paradise."_ His grip on his hands tightened, knuckles almost white. _But I am_ angry. _So, so_ angry. _Why should the living suffer at the hands of a monster that should be burning in Hell? Why must we, the innocent, have to live in fear of every shadow, of the cruelty of such demons? Why must my daughter be in such peril, because of my cowardice?_

The lights of the church faded quicker with every choked breath, the shadows moving and rising, consuming the man's vision.

_God,_ he thought, praying with ferocity he never had before. _When my beloved died, I did not question your will. When the Count first came to my town and killed my fellow man, I still had faith. But now..."_ The man grit his teeth, almost stopping himself for even having the thought, but he pressed on. _Now, I found myself with doubts. I find my faith_ breaking. _Everything around me continues to grow worse with each day, each second. And now, with my daughter in the care of a monster, I find myself on the edge of the living and the dead. If she dies, then I am sure I will find myself plunging into the abyss after her._

He was sobbing again.

_God,_ he thought, despair filling his heart, what was left of his strength rapidly leaving him. _Save my daughter; I beg of you. Do what I should I have done, were I not such a pathetic man. Send down your Messengers to rescue her, for such an innocent girl does not deserve to be at the mercies of that monster! Of that demon,_ Count Dracula!

The air seemed to turn ice cold, and for a moment, the man could see the darkness take shape. _The Count's_ shape, his inhuman face in a grin, eyes hidden by his mangled hair, the smell of death and blood all but entwined with his very essence. And in his hands, was the man's daughter, her body dyed with the same shadows that made up the Count's very being, face wet with tears, begging for help.

_Please_ , _God._ Please _._

The man, Gabriel, prayed with every bit of his fading strength.

There was no answer. The sun was close to setting, the darkness of the church consuming all, shadows dancing freely, and Gabriel sobbed. Every bit of his strength was gone now, and all he could do was cry in his soiled clothing. Because he was a weak man. Because he was a horrible man. So horrible, that his daughter was suffering in an unimaginable agony from his cowardice, and there was no one who could help him—

There was a creaking sound coming from behind him, the sound of wooden doors being gently pushed open. Gabriel turned.

What he saw took his breath away.

There was a man who stood at the door. A man who was framed perfectly by the setting sun behind him, the lights giving his body an otherworldly, almost heavenly, glow. There were shadows on his body, but they were not the frightening, inhuman ones Gabriel had grown accustomed to; these were ones that highlighted his frame, made him look dynamic, conveying strength, and a certainty that seemed to resonate throughout his very presence. As if he knew exactly what was needed of him from the moment he entered the church.

The man began to walk towards Gabriel, the doors still open behind him, letting in the light of the sun and dispelling the shadows that had surrounded Gabriel, who watched the man come in in silent shock. The man moved with grace, footsteps so quiet and peaceful, and once he arrived at the altar, he knelt down until he was all but touching the floor. With the sun's light behind the man, Gabriel could see something underneath his clothes, near his shoulder. At first, he thought it might be a tattoo, or perhaps a scar, but looking closer, he realized it was neither of those things. No, on the man's shoulder, was a birthmark.

A birthmark, in the shape of a star.

The man stared at Gabriel with the kindest, most gentle eyes he had ever seen. "Good sir," he said, and his voice was like that of an angel's. "I've been told your daughter is in danger, and I wish to help."

In that moment, Gabriel knew God had answered his prayer. Strength returned to his limbs, and Gabriel felt something he hadn't felt in so long.

Hope.

_To Be Continued~_


	2. The Monster Trainer: Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to know why I’ve been gone for so long, please click on the link [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6210783/The-Black-Mage-of-Phantasm) to go to my FFN profile page where everything is explained. Be warned, it is rather long, and goes to some dark places at times. You don’t have to read everything if it makes you upset. All I ask is you do at the very least take a glance at what I’ve written to better understand what has happened to me in the year I’ve been gone

**_Prologue_ **

He did not expect this.

Slowly, and with actual _bruises_ on his skin, the man got up from the charred grass he laid on.

If someone had told him not even an hour earlier what was going to happen, he would've laughed at them, hang them, and then slice their body into bloody pieces.

It had been a while since he tasted his own blood, but the syrup-thick liquid pooling in his mouth as he rose up from the ground was familiar; even if it had been _years_ since he'd been injured this badly. Even if he had done his best to forget the days when the world had treated him like he was just another piece of trash.

Once he was sat up, a tiny hiss escaping his lips as he did so, he slowly turned his head to the side and spat onto the ground; a thick glob of blood joined the other patches of red on the blackened grass and dirt.

It should've been something that he heard from some shit-head that had never seen the real threats of the Grand Line. Or maybe from the commoners that never realized just how insignificant they were. The very suggestion—no, the mere idea that something like _this_ could ever happen to _him_ was the absolute epitome of a horrible, ridiculous, absolutely absurd, joke.

But no. This wasn't a joke from a weak idiot. This was something worse.

He felt his broken ribs crack even further, and then he coughed up blood. He felt the driblets descending his chin, and when he looked down, he saw that the gashes on his torso were also leaking the same crimson liquid and staining his pristine white shirt, the color of it now a wet, murky red. His pants were just as cut and bloody as his shirt, and his once spotless black shoes were now covered in dirt and splotches of blood. His breaths coming out in heavy gasps, he took a stumbling step forward.

In his life, there had been moments he would always remember until the day he died. There had been things that he had tried his best to forget, but sometimes, when he closed his eyes, they rose from the pitch-black abyss that existed within his head and screamed at him; they demand his attention, and no matter what he tried, he would be forced to listen and watch them. Those times, those God-awful memories that just would not _die_ , were so similar to the one another yet so different. Some were times when he had suffered and actually bled, others times when he had endured humiliation after humiliation. But there was always one linking factor between every one of those moments. One feeling that had always been brought up during each of those wretched times.

The feeling that he had been _wronged._

He took another step, and he staggered, almost dropping to his knees before he quickly righted himself.

Every one of those God-awful moments from his past had evoked a primal sensation within the depths of his mind. A burning intensity would suddenly awaken, and then he'd feel like he was on fire. He'd feel nothing but an all-consuming heat that would tint everything he saw with bright red. It was his body's way of telling him that no, this wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to go through this. Not him; never him. He was a _God_ , after all.

Another step, and he spat even more blood to the charred grass.

A God could not be humiliated. A God could not suffer. So then, why did he ever know what it was like to have a bullet jettison through his chest? Why did he know what it was like to have his own stomach try and eat itself after days without food? And why in the hell did he ever know what it was like to be at another person's mercy? The answer was simple. The pathetic weaklings that littered the world had wronged their God. Their stupidity knew no bounds, and they had actually forgotten what their ruler looked like.

Those pathetic _mortals_ from his past had dared to bring him down to their disgusting world of suffering and pain.

Just. Like. Now.

An absolutely _murderous_ snarl erupted within his throat, disturbing the silence of the burnt field. With another step, the ground, for a moment, changed. Instead of nothing but charcoal black, there was only thin, silky white. But only for a moment.

Again. Yet again, he had been dragged down to the world of commoners and weaklings. Here, on a shit island that he never heard of before, he had fought against someone; multiple someones, in fact. In God damn _Paradise,_ he had fought with almost everything he had...

The ground shivered as he stomped forward, white once again sweeping over the grass before just as quickly vanishing.

...and had almost lost.

Veins burst onto his head—and even after losing so much blood, he knew they were practically bulging out of his skin.

He.

His fists were clenched by his sides so tightly that they drew blood.

Almost.

With one last stomp, the world turned to white; and this time, it stayed that way.

_Lost._

And then the white rose up. What was once a solid mass had been turned into multiple thick, flexible strands that took the same shape as the ground it had once been. And then the strands body began to wave through the air like cobras, eager to bite at anything that crossed them.

It shouldn't have gone like this. Nothing should even be close to damaging him like this in the _weakest_ part of the Grand Line. But something—no, _some things_ had been able to hurt him; had made him bleed.

Around him at several different spots along what was once a burnt field, the white strings started to converge and take shape.

What exactly had that bastard Kuzan said about those Marine reports from across the Line? That _some things_ were able to kill a vast number of grunts and even sink their ships before they even realized what had happened? That even though they had only been able to gather very few witness reports—and the cannon fodder that did live had barely seen anything—all of them had stated that the Marines involved had seen _some things_ unlike anything they had ever seen before? That they were creatures that were so fast, so strong, so strange, and so inhuman that almost every Marine that had lived to see these things had all but shouted that they weren't Zoan Devil Fruit users—or any kind of pirate for that matter—and instead some kind of...of _monsters?_

He had laughed then; of course he would laugh at that. He had asked Kuzan just what kind of morons they were recruiting in the Marines these days if they honestly confused some kind of Zoan pirate group for monsters? But that ice bastard had only replied in that impossibly slow drawl of his that, regardless as to what exactly was causing the death of these men, the fact remained that Marines have died. And that similar creatures matching some of the numerous reports had been spotted on some random archipelago in Paradise. So, Kuzan had sent him to check it out; because somehow, the bastard knew that he happened to be close by on another island while he oversaw a shipment of materials that one of his subordinates needed to produce something that would, in his words, "change everything about this dull age of piracy, shurororo!"

But, since he finished his business by the time he received that call, he had shrugged and decided to kill some time. So, he flew towards the archipelago.

And once he arrived, at the center island's forest-covered mountain he saw the trees falling one after the other—he could even see the ground shaking violently when he squinted hard enough. And as he flew closer to the mountain, he could vaguely make out shapes flying through the air and hear faint roars that reached his ears; each one was different in pitch and volume, shrieking what almost sounded like words but ones he couldn't quite make out from so high up.

But once he flew lower, a mere dozen feet above the forest, he saw them.

He saw strange devices that looked like they belonged in Vegapunk's lab.

He saw the monsters—he had realized within a few minutes that they were not even remotely human—that had scared the Marines grunts shitless...

He snarled again. And the thick, snake-like strands around him began to get sharper. As more and more strands rose up and joined the closest mass of white, the tips of the bundled strands started to turn obsidian.

...and he saw the _people_ controlling those monsters with ease. Monsters, the likes of which he had never seen before; whether it be in New World of Paradise. Monsters that hadn't hesitated for even a moment to attack him after the _weak commoners_ gave the command. Monsters that had been able to dodge his attacks with moves that defied his every expectation.

Monsters that had been able to _hurt_ him. A God.

His head was all but made of pulsating veins now as his stomps grew louder. The masses of black-tipped white strands stopped waving as they stood tall, like sharpened javelins ready to soar through the air at a moments notice. There were only two reasons why he didn't unleash Flap Thread and destroy every damn island here. Two things that prevented him from screaming until his voice ran raw and the world knew just how angry this transgression had made him.

One was that none of those _fuckers_ had been able to land the finishing blow. No, instead, when those machines had started to go crazy and everything lit up with light, something had slammed into him hard enough to send him flying back to the ground. It wasn't those pathetic weaklings or their monsters that had done it, and going by their shocked expressions none of them had expected their machines to do _that,_ so he did not lose to them. Fate would not allow someone like him—someone with the blood of Gods running through his veins—to lose on a damn Paradise island to a bunch of _nobodies_ that he had never even heard before!

The second reason was that everything around him had already been destroyed.

The forest that had once covered the mountain was gone, only charcoal-black twigs remained in its place as soot and smoke continued to waft through the air like a damn fog—except for the area that he had turned white. And as he approached the edge of the mountains steep cliff, one that had once been full of emerald grass, he looked down below at the island. It might have been worse off than the mountain. Any hints of civilization had been wiped out; buildings, people, plants, everything had become ash and converted what was left into a black stain. It was like staring at a bottomless chasm made of darkness, and it stared back and let everyone see all the devastation that had killed it a thousand times over.

And as he picked his head up and looked at the other islands of the archipelago, he only saw smoke and ash rising towards the sky. The same black that smothered the island he stood on had taken over the rest of the archipelago.

To think, in God damn Paradise, something had the power to cause so much destruction. That some kind of machines had unleashed... _something_ that had not only been enough to temporarily—just temporarily—knock him out but also turn everything to God damn ash and dust without even actually causing any fires; he had experience with scorching islands to dust, and he knew damn well that whatever the hell happened hadn't even used a single flame. Something had utterly destroyed everything in the short time he had been unconscious.

Well, almost everything.

He slowly turned. And far away, there were two spots that still had some green to them. One was small, only few patches of grass and some plants were still intact, but the other was huge; there were dozens of trees and hundreds of feet of grass and dirt that still existed even when everything else had been bathed in ash and _death._

Something had protected those spots. The two groups of people that had fought him had stood right on those spots.

He growled, and the strands flickered, condensing and getting even larger.

They had escaped him. Just before he could exact his righteous wrath and show these weaklings what happens to the fools that made him as furious as he was now, they had fled. He had no idea where that larger group of people had gone off too—more specifically, that arrogant, smug, absolutely infuriating mortal that thought he was on _his level—_ or even how the hell they had gotten off the island so quickly.

But he had seen the smaller group. He had seen that damn _shitty brat_ leave with one of her pet monsters flying off in the distance—and she had made some kind of sound that he couldn't quite make out. But it was like an injured animal that continued to suffer when all it wanted was death, except the sound the brat made was somehow more primal and...remorseful? He couldn't quite remember. His concussion was starting to mess with his memories; or maybe it had started too a while ago.

He let out several long—and when he said long, he meant each one was at least a minute and a half—breaths. The rage within him slowly began to dwindle, and the masses of white slowly receded back to the ground as they turned back to black grass and charred twigs.

But even with a concussion, he still remembered the general direction that little shit had flown off to.

As he focused on his insides and fixed whatever broken bones or damaged organs he could, he turned his head and looked down. Right at one of the jutting edges of the cliff were his orange and white sunglasses.

That bitch was _so_ lucky that the clouds had been scattered from the force of whatever the hell that light was. Otherwise, he would be using Sky Path to follow after her and rip her limb from limb. But just because he couldn't follow her didn't mean others couldn't. Because even in Paradise, there were plenty of people that sailed under his Jolly Roger.

Slowly, he bent down towards his sunglasses, breaths coming out in shuddering gasps. Even with the rudimentary first aid he was currently giving his body, blood still leaked from his wounds. Not as much as before, but he still felt it.

He still felt the damn burns and cuts and bruises and gashes and God damn broken bones a _little girl_ and her _pets_ had caused him!

His fingers twitched as he grabbed his sunglasses, bulging veins back on his head. He let out another long breath, doing his damn best to temper his fury. He couldn't go after that bitch in his current state. He couldn't fly, and he hadn't even bothered to bring a Transponder Snail because he thought he would be in and out of this place. All he could do was wait.

Just wait. Just wait.

He placed his sunglasses back on his face, not a crack anywhere on them; perfectly fine, just as he was.

Just wait.

He could use the time waiting for a cloud to get in his range to come up with an excuse to Kuzan. The Marines either already knew or were going to learn very soon that an entire archipelago full of people had been wiped out. And there was no way in hell he was actually going to admit what really happened here. The technology he had seen was _immensely_ interesting—once he got past the anger and could actually think clearly enough to admit that fact, anyway. And he wanted it. He wanted everything he'd seen so badly. Those ball things that had somehow stored the monsters. Those weird machines that had caused so much destruction. Hell, even those little necklaces and those damn bracelets that somehow powered up that brat and arrogant bastard's monsters. He wanted to make those things his and only his.

Just wait.

Hell, why stop there? Why not just take the monsters themselves while he was at it after prying them from those pathetic weaklings' cold, severed hands? Why not torture the ever-loving shit out of them and enjoy their horror-filled faces as he slowly took his time in finding out just where the hell they got such machines and creatures? Why not slice them bit by bit with his strings, listening and nodding to every word they sobbed until eventually their voices gave out from all the pain and screaming? Why not make them regret ever pissing off their _God_ by making their last hours on earth worse than Hell itself?

Just wait.

Oh, yes, he would do that. He would find every one of the bastards and bitches that had dared to make him bleed. He would take all their wonderful toys for his own, and would make sure the Marines never learned about them because then they would want a share too—and he wasn't a very sharing God.

Another breath left him. And then he sat down right on the edge of the cliff; one leg placed on the burnt stone as the other hung loosely over the hundreds of feet between the cliff and the ground.

Just. Wait.

That little shit would be his best starting point. Not only had had actually seen where she went off too, but there were only so many islands in Paradise her little pet could make it to, given its current state. And even though it had moved at ridiculously fast speeds, this was still the Grand Line, and the sea itself could screw over even the best of pirates. So the chances of a little girl actually making it before some random storm sent her to the bottom of the ocean were already incredibly slim.

His lips started to twitch.

Oh, but he did hope that brat would live.

Slowly, they curled upward.

Because she had said some rather _enraging_ things during their fight.

He was smiling now. An absolutely bloodthirsty smile.

And he _really_ wanted to show her what happens when you piss off God.

"Fu..."

The moment that small laugh escaped him, his entire body began to tremble. Not from rage or pain, but from sheer delight.

"Fufufu..."

Because just the idea of making the bitch that had dared to say _that_ to him suffer an agonizing death gave him an oh-so wonderous feeling of joy.

"Fufufufufufufufu!"

By now, his laughing was bordering on hysterical, but he didn't care. He simply laughed to his heart's content as ash and dust continued to sweep over the dead archipelago.

Just wait bitch...Donquitoxe Doflamingo was coming.

_**Entry #0: End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Here is the new snippet that was decided to be added to the collection! Some of you probably already know what stories I'm crossing over in this snippet are (Hint: one of them's about a monkey with a Straw Hat), but for those that don't, you'll have to wait for more chapters to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there. Black Mage of Phantasm here, coming at you with a snippet collection.
> 
> For those of you not already in the know, Threads of Convergence is where I will post a series of crossover ideas that may one day be turned into full-length stories. And it was decided that this was to be the first snippet I post for ToC. Some of you already know what stories I'm crossing over in this snippet, but for those that don't, you'll have to wait for more chapters to find out.


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